All the Waves of the Ocean
by Writegirl
Summary: Charles Xavier gets an unexpected message that will change his life forever. Chapter 5 new
1. Default Chapter

She stared at the space in front of her, thinking about how her life had changed

She stared at the space in front of her, thinking about how her life had changed. Everything she thought she was wasn't true. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

For a moment she just stared at the gravestone, wanting to do anything but what she knew she must. How did such a burden fall on twenty-year-old shoulders? What higher powers ordained that she take on this now, when so much was happening to her?

Sighing, the girl took one last look at her mother's headstone, dropping the single carnation that she had been holding on the freshly turned earth. A last remnant of her childhood, she thought, walking through the fog that had descended on the small graveyard. At that moment she told herself that she was never coming back.

_____________________________________________________________________

Charles Xavier held the letter in his hands, telling himself that there was some mistake, that it wasn't possible. But the delicate, feminine handwriting kept him from believing his own lies. He knew the handwriting, could remember the last letter he had held that contained that script. It had been just as devastating, just as crushing as the one he held now, though the message then was of a birth, not a death:

Dearest Charles,

I'm sorry that we haven't stayed in touch over the years, and because of that reason this letter carries more heartache than it would have otherwise. Carla dies last week after a long battle with leukemia. She didn't want you to know prior to the final arrangements, so you won't receive this until after the funeral, which was her last wish. I don't know what happened with the two of you all those years ago, but I do know that she thought of you at the last. 

Charles, Stephanie is coming. It was also Carla's wish that she finally meet her father, though why after she made it clear that she didn't want you to meet before this is beyond me. You understood her better than anyone, maybe better than she did herself, so you could grasp this better than I can. She is planning on leaving a week after the funeral to give you time to prepare, which should give you about five days after this letter arrives. She didn't want me to tell you, but I know you, and you needed to know this before she appears on your doorstep. Please keep in touch with me, even though I'm only the poor sister.

Love 

Marianne.

Charles sighed, folding the sheer paper and returning it to its envelope. After all these years, he thought, this is happening. He hadn't counted on this, still couldn't really believe it. Carla dying wasn't something he had thought about, something that seemed as distant in the future as as anything. 

And then there was Stephanie.

He looked at the picture of a bright, smiling young girl with long brown hair and bright blue eyes. It was one of the many pictures that were crowded on the corners of his desk, and one of his most treasured. She stood with her mother, both of them holding up a diploma with a Harvard seal on it, Ph.D. in Biogenetics, he remembered, one of the youngest people to graduate from Harvard. She looks like her mother, he thought, picking up the picture, but there was something about the way she stood, the set of her shoulders, that came directly from him.

Not for the first time he cursed Carla's wish that he stay away from his child. He had followed it, of course, requesting that he be kept updated on everything from interests to boyfriends. He knew as much about her as he would if she was living with him. Knew she liked steamed vegetables and marinated chicken breast. Knew her favorite color was navy blue and she had a habit of touching the tip of her nose when she was concentrating on something. A thousand small details that wouldn't mean much to someone else, but meant the world to him. All without seeing her in person.

For years he had wondered what it would be like, meeting the child he and Carla had made together, finally coming to some terms with the mistakes of his past. He had hoped that one day Carla would agree to let him visit, to get to know Stephanie. As time passed and his daughter grew those hopes had become distant, but they remained. Now it seemed that he would be getting his wish, more or less. He was going to meet his daughter.

"Sir? Is something wrong?"

Charles looked up, and met the concerned eyes of Betsy Braddock. For a moment he didn't say anything, simply sat, trying to clear his mind. Looking down at his desk, he finally found his voice.

"Have you ever done something that you knew was wrong, but you did it anyway because you were afraid to do anything else?"

Elizabeth didn't say anything, she simply closed the door behind her and sat across the desk from her mentor. She had lived in his house for many years, had seen him happy, angry, and even joyous, but never in her memory had she seen the expression he now wore. It was a cross between expectation and fear, remorse and anger.

"What's happened, Charles?" she asked.

He realized that he didn't know where to begin. There were many things that he had kept from his students over the years. This was one of the largest. " Someone died recently, someone who was very dear to me. I've spent the last few years hoping that she would change her mind. Now I know she meant that she never wanted to see me again."

Elizabeth was taken aback by the hushed tone of his voice, the air of defeat that hung over him.

"That isn't all," he said, before briskly pulling himself together, "There is much that I have to tell all of you, and things that need to be prepared. Inform everyone that there will be a meeting in my study after dinner tonight." That would give him just enough time to figure out how he was going to tell his students, his children, that another would soon be entering their fold.

_____________________________________________________________________

Stephanie had decided not to look through her mother's things, and she didn't. Everything in her room had been boxed by strangers, the few pieces that her mother specified had been set aside, and now she was cleaning out the attic of the large colonial house they had shared.

Old trunks layered with dust were stacked up against the walls, newer ones were waiting to be filled with the remains of her mothers things. Each trunk was neatly labeled, each held the remains of four generations of Tallerington women. Some so old that the leather of them was scarred and faded. The attic smelled of old perfume, clothes and memories, she thought as she wrapped another piece of clothing is tissue paper. It was the last box from her mother's closet that needed to be packed. Most of the clothes were old, she thought, grimacing at a pair of lime green slacks that seemed too small for even her mothers petite frame. Pictures by the dozens were kept in shoeboxes, most of them of her mother's friends when they were younger, folded and dog-eared worn photos of smiling people. 

"At least she didn't loose her smile," she said to the quiet room, placing the last shoebox in the trunk. Turning, a piece of red ribbon caught her eyes. The ribbon was wrapped around a stack of letters, the newest from a few years ago. She recognized the return address, Westchester, and the name, Charles Xavier. **Dear old dad** she thought, putting the stack aside to browse later.

Two hours later she sat on the living room floor, and unwrapped the letters. She had often wondered at the man her father would be. She often imagined him as a superman, someone who could make everything right with a snap of his fingers, who would love her forever. She smiled slightly at the childhood rendition of the perfect father. In reality she would have jumped for joy is he had just _been there_ some of the time. 

Uncertain of what she would find, she opened the first letter:

Carla,

I know that you decided a long time ago that you didn't want me to meet Stephanie, and why you made that decision is understandable when seen in the heat of anger, but to hold it for so long is beyond me. To tell you the simple truth I would love nothing more than to meet my child. It has been almost two years since you sent me any news, and I am growing anxious to hear about her. How is she doing at Harvard? Has her major changed at all? Simple things that most fathers know about their children, but I find myself relying on another to answer.

I know we didn't part as friends, but I would like us to try to be as such, at least for her sake. I won't repeat the arguments that I've tried to give in my other letters, because I have finally learned that they will do no good. It has been almost eighteen years now, long enough for the dust to settle from our arguments, at least in my opinion. I am sorry for what happened between us, and there is nothing else that I can say.

I will be in Washington this week for a conference. I truly want to talk with you, face to face, as you seem to hang up on me whenever I call, and you made it clear in your last letter that I was never to do so again. Please write to me, or call, and let me know if you will meet me anytime that I am there. We need so to talk.

Sincerely,

Charles Xavier

Gently, Carla folded the letter, though she wanted nothing more than to rip it into pieces. With a certainty that astounded, she was sure the rest of the letter would contain the same words, asking how she was, almost begging for her mother to meet him. For years she had labored under the thought that her father hadn't wanted her, that somehow she had driven him away by simply existing. It was an illusion that her mother had done nothing to alleviate. She was told her father was too busy to deal with her, that he didn't want to see her, that he didn't have the time.

Learning differently was a slap in the face.

"Damn you," she muttered to the empty house, though she felt like screaming, like tearing at the walls. Her mother had kept her away from the thing she had wanted most, her father's love, and the woman had died without giving her a reason why.

She started when the papers flew out of her hands, scattering on the coffee table in front of her, smoking slightly. Brushing it off, she gathered the letters, idly wondering how some of them became charred. Sighing, she went upstairs and began the tedious process of making reservations, more determined than ever to know the father she had lost.

_____________________________________________________________________

Charles watched the stunned faces of his students, unsure at whether to laugh at their comical expressions or to bang his head into the desk

He had decided that the only thing to do was to tell them quickly and easily the events that were coming. He could feel a thousand questions on their minds, many of them wondering if any more of his wayward children were going to make an appearance in their lives. He could lay that particular fear to rest. After discovering David, he had run a search on the women he remembered sleeping with. It was one of the few times that he thanked his ability for total recall. None of them had had children outside of wedlock, and those who had children at the moment were either too old or too young to be his.

Thank God for small miracles.

"Well, are you going to ask me any of the questions that are fighting desperately to get out, or are you going to sit their for the remainder of the night like statues."

Jaws that had previously hung open snapped shut with an almost audible click, bringing a peel of laughter to his throat, which he quickly shoved down. Laughing at this point in time would not be the most prudent thing for him to do.

"How old is she?" Bobby asked, though he cringed at the glares his teammates sent his way.

"Stephanie is twenty. She turns twenty one in two months. October 1." For a moment Charles vividly recalled every single birthday card he'd sent to her, at least for the first six years of her life. Each one had been returned, unopened.

Scott spoke up, " Is Stephanie a mutant, professor?"

Charles sighed. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know. Nor do I know how long she will be staying here. It is my hope that you will adjust to her presence as easily as you have adjusted to all of those who have joined us over the years. And no," Charles said before Bishop could ask, "I do not believe she is a security risk."

When no other questions were forthcoming, Charles nodded, " I think we should all return to whatever we had planned for the evening, if there is nothing more to be said."

As his X-men filed out of the room Charles caught a stray joyful thought from Bobby. Since Jubilee went to the Massachusetts Academy he was once again the youngest person in the house, a situation that he'd always found intolerable. Stephanie would be three years his junior. Charles had to fight the urge to call Bobby back and tell him to watch himself around his daughter, then shook himself.

She hadn't even arrived yet, and he found himself acting like an overprotective parent.


	2. Meetings

Stephanie held her breath as the plane touched down at JFK. She'd seen to New York before, with her Girl Scout troop years ago. She vividly remembered seeing the Statue of Liberty with ten year old eyes, wondering how something that big could have managed to make it across the ocean. Remembered looking at the ant-sized people from the top of the Empire State Building and wondering at the people who could build such things.

At no time could she have thought that her father was little more than a stones-throw away. Had she known that he lived outside of New York, she probably would have spent the fifty dollars her mother had given her for souvenirs on a cab to Westchester, ten years old or not. As it was all she had as a memory of her trip was a cheap plastic rendition of Miss Liberty and a couple other smaller statues from the Museum of Natural History.

She would have preferred her father.

Looking around briefly, she watched as the parents of Cynthia, a little girl that had taken a particular liking to her on the three hour trip, gathered the sleeping bundle with the rest of their carry-ons, careful not to wake their small burden. Blinking she looked away, quelling the small hopes that still struggled to the surface of her mind, of what it might have been like if she had known her father. Would he have carried her like that while she slept, as if she were something precious and utterly breakable?

Sighing, Stephanie gathered her small carryon and laptop and headed for the exit. She still had a long way to go before she could relax on the long drive to Westchester.

______________________________________________________

Charles Xavier was nervous.

It wasn't a slight, 'didn't take the time to study for the quiz last night' nervous either. It was an, 'oh my God this place is full of landmines and it's the middle of the night and I cant see shit but I have to keep moving' nervousness.

At least, that's the way Bobby Drake pictured it.

At the moment, he was sitting in the Rec Room, idly twining an ice tether across it, wondering how thin he could make the leads before they broke. It was one of the things he did when he was tense, and that morning had been entirely too tense for everyone.

Charles had tried to contact Stephanie several times, but the numbers he'd tried always came up busy or with no one home, and she hadn't returned any of his calls. He'd wanted to make sure she had a ride into Westchester without having to deal with New York cabs. He'd even gone as far as to try and find her with Cerebro, with no luck. It turned out that this stranger was just as much a sensor ghost as Gambit.

'Guess that means she's a mutant,' Bobby thought. He wondered what kind of powers she had, then curbed himself. It took a lot to hide from the professor, the only two people he'd ever known to do it were Gambit and Legion. He shuddered, remembering Israel all too vividly. If she were anywhere near as powerful as David had been he wondered what kind of person she would be. Would she be withdrawn? Outgoing? Crazy

Cute?

'Whoa, slow down. Bad idea dating the bosses daughter,' he thought to himself. Beside, what if she was loony like David?

'Bet Sinister would kick himself in the ass for not thinking about how powerful the Prof's kids would be.' Just thinking about Legions powers in Sinister's hands made him sick.

"Please don't even think something like that, Robert."

Bobby jumped, loosing his hold on the ice that made a fine sheen glimmer in the sunlight drifting through the windows. He hated the way Xavier could sneak up on him. Sometimes he thought the man did it deliberately, just to make him jump. "Hey Professor. Any luck?"

Charles shook his head, "As far as I know, she could arrive any time. Marianne said she was to arrive sometime today, but even she didn't know the details of Stephanie's flight plan."

Bobby blinked, trying to absorb what the professor had just told him. Usually, he spoke very calmly, smoothly, with enough serenity in him to make Storm look like a nervous wreck. Those two sentences however, were spoken with a speed that made them almost unintelligible.

Yeah, definitely nervous.

_____________________________________________________

Stephanie had drifted to sleep sometime before they were out of New York, with the tall shadows of the skyscraper still creating a long shadow on the ground. Now, she watched as they passed several lakes, the surface of them smooth as glass. They'd been through some smaller towns, most of which still boasted the mythical 'Main St' in full swing. 

Now they were outside of most of the cities, just having passed Salem Center and still heading north. All she could see were forests and small glades, and was entranced by the colors of the leaves on the trees that towered around them, seeming to crowd the small street they were on. Occasionally through this wall of vegetation, she caught a glimpse of large colonial houses, bigger than the plantation house she'd grown up in. Their sheer size astounded her, and she wondered who could possibly have enough children to fill such places. When she and her mother lived at home, the place always felt so empty, as if there should have been dozens of children running through the halls, dogs and cats chasing them, begging to be petted.

She sighed, staring into the smoky ceiling of the cab. Her mother hadn't even allowed her to keep the animals that always seemed to follow her home.

"Hello, Xavier's School for Higher Learning."

Stephanie looked through the windshield, becoming aware that they had stopped. In front of them stood a tall gate, the brick sides seeming to disappear into the undergrowth.

"What you want me to say lady?" The driver asked, looking expectantly at her.

"Stephanie Tarrington."

The driver sighed before leaning out the window to the console, "Yeah, I'm carrying a Stephanie Tarrington. I think she's expected."

The gates opened with none of the squeaking that she had expected. Ominously silent, she judged them as they drove through, onto a private drive. The trees here seemed even taller, and Stephanie fought a bout of panic. She would do this, this was what she had wanted for a long time, her whole life, and she wouldn't let panic get in the way.

"Jesus, how big is this place," she whispered, almost smiling when the cab driver nodded in assent. They'd been on the private rode for almost five minutes, and not going slowly either. The trees were just as dense here as they were on the rode, without a sign of giving up their hold on the land.

Stephanie blinked when sunlight poured through the windows. Abruptly, the trees fell back, revealing a huge house sitting on top of a slight hill. Looking around she took in the sheer size of what she was assuming was the spread of the place, and caught a slight glimmer of water in the distance, another place, what she thought was a boathouse, rising behind the main house.

"People don't actually live here, do they?" the driver asked as they pulled into the circular driveway, past a stone sign that read, Xavier's School of Higher Learning.

Stephanie shook her head, "Apparently, my father does."


	3. Beginnings and other things

Stephanie Tarrington got out of the cab slowly, clamping an iron hand on the butterflies that were currently trying to escape her stomach. The slam of the drivers side door made her jump, and she scowled. She hated being nervous. It made her talk a mile a minute, sometimes so badly that no one could understand a word she was saying. She preferred to be calm, sensible, in control of her self and her emotions before she met her father, if just to keep from knocking him down when she ran over and hugged him until he couldn't breathe.

Or punched they living hell out of him, whichever happened first.

It was quiet, the humming of insects little more than a whisper, and the opening of the large front door seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. A tall man came out, too young to be her father, of that she was certain. Idly, she wondered at the red sunglasses he wore which obscured the upper half of his face. His smile, though, seemed genuine as he made his way down the stairs, pausing a step from the bottom and turning as if someone had called his name.

Stephanie's gaze followed his, and she caught sight of what appeared to be a large, yellow table being rolled out the door. At least, that was her first opinion. The 'table' took form, and she recognized a hovercraft of some sort. In the science department at Harvard one of her friends had suggested such a device as an all purpose cure-all for warehouse workers, but his small designs were unable to lift more than a few pounds or float more than an inch off the ground.

This, however, put Michael's experiments to shame. The large yellow device was acting as a wheelchair of sorts, floated more than a foot above the ground, and was capable of carrying the weight of a full grown man. Said man was staring at her as if he were memorizing every inch of her, and silently comparing her to someone or something else. When she looked into his eyes, however, all she saw was approval, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Her first impression of him, when she finally got past the idea that, if he were her, she would have changed the color from yellow to black, was of strength, both physically and of character. There was just something about him that she could feel, an inner core that would define a leader. Her second impression was that he was as bald as an Easter egg, and she briefly thanked the powers that be that she hadn't inherited that trait from him.

At least, she hoped she hadn't.

It was at that moment that he gave her a rueful grin, and Stephanie had the oddest feeling that he had known what she was thinking.

"Mr. Xavier?" she asked hesitantly. It was the only thing she could think to say, 'father' would be to personal, 'dad', seemed out of the question, at least for the moment, and she couldn't bring herself to call him Charles.

"Stephanie, I'm very pleased to meet you at last."

Even though he sounded sincere, she could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice, as if he were afraid she would react badly to this meeting. Stifling a small cringe, she did the only thing she could think to do: stepping forward so that she stood right in front of the hovercraft, she held out her hand, and breathed a small sigh of relief when he took it in a sure grip.

"I'm pleased to meet you too."

_____________________________________________________

Charles was frozen when he looked out the door and saw his daughter standing in the drive, hands folded in front of her as she watched Scott head down the stairs to meet her. It was a scene that he had hoped would occur for the past twenty years, and now that it was, he was terrified. What would she think of him? Would she hate him? Had Carla explained what happened between them? These and several other questions were spinning around his mind like a cyclone as he summoned the courage to head out the door.

**_'Okay, Charles, just remember to breathe and you'll be fine, that's it, in and outin and out Why aren't you breathing!!'_** Charles shook himself, pushing all his insecurities to the back of his mind as he let his gaze linger on his child. She was taller than he would have thought, almost 5'10, with long, curly brown hair that glinted golden in the sunlight and teased at her waist. She was willowy, like Carla, but he knew she was stronger than she looked, holding the East Coast conference championship in both martial artist weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. A brief image of her delivering a skull-shattering roundhouse kick to his head made him pale, but he pushed it aside.

And at the moment she was the most beautiful and precious thing in his world.

//Please tell me that baldness does not run in our family, please//

The thought ran through his mind like quicksilver, pulling him down from the clouds he was currently skating on. It was rudimentary and crude in its formation, but it had the earmarks of an untrained psi. Charles had believed when he was unable to trace Stephanie with Cerebro that she was a mutant of some sort, and he found himself looking forward to finding out what kinds of powers she possessed.

And dreading it.

Charles looked to Scott, //Scott, if you would, the driver?//

Nodding, Scott went to take care of the cab fare.

"That's all right, I can pay" Stephanie held up her hand, then turned to her father, quieting when she saw the look on his face. Many of her professors had given her the same look when she was about to start an argument with them. It was a look that said **_'Just go with it, you don't have to challenge everything that happens,'_** Sighing, Stephanie leaned down and picked up the large duffel bag, almost jumping when another hand brushed against hers.

"Oh, sorry." This man was younger, with blond hair and laughing blue eyes. 'I think I've just met the practical joker,' she thought as she relinquished hold of the bag.

"Hi, I'm Bobby," he said, holding out his free hand as he slung the duffel over his shoulder. 'Definitely stronger than he looks,' she thought, taking his hand, "Stephanie Tarrington."

His smile was utterly charming, that of a high schooler who was still insecure enough to show it, and it set her at ease immediately.

"Stephanie, if you would."

Turning her gaze back to her father, she was relieved to see a look of approval in his eyes, as if he had been unaware of how she would react to these strangers on top of everything else. Well, the sign did say, Institute of Higher Learning, and she didn't want to alienate herself from the people she would be living with, at least for the moment. Though she had to admit, his students were rather old.

The house was even more beautiful on the inside, she mused, trying to take in everything she saw. The foyer itself was larger than the room she had called home in college, the ceiling towering what she guessed to be twelve feet overhead. The floors were a gleaming hardwood that seemed to extend the length of the two wings that they lead to, and she was sure it would be the same throughout. She was lead past a rec room that looked well lived in, and two large double doors that lead to what she guessed was a library.

'Wow,' she thought to herself, taking in the feel of the place. The house she and her mother lived in had always felt like a museum, with family heirlooms strategically placed throughout to be conversation pieces at the many parties at which she had been 'seen and not heard' at as a child. This place, for all its size, felt and looked lived in.

It took her a moment to realize that they had stopped walking, and that the running commentary from her father had ended as well. "I'm sorry," she said on impulse, blushing slightly.

Charles only smiled, "You have nothing to be sorry about. My students choose this room for you when they learned you were coming. It's supposed to have the best view of the grounds and lake."

Stephanie followed him into the room, which was slightly larger than her room at home. A large bay window dominated one wall, allowing light to stream into the room and reflect off the wood surfaces. Through one door she could see the ensuite bathroom glowing cheerfully in the afternoon light entering through its windows.

//Thank you,// the words drifted through Charles' mind, and he began to wonder if she were testing him. Her shields were strong than he would have imagined for someone who had lived the majority of her life with Carla, who was as human as they came. Then again, he wondered if she was aware of the fact that she wasn't speaking with her mouth at all.

"I'm glad you like it, Jean assured me that you would."

Stephanie turned slightly at 'Jean', so he clarified, "Jean is one of the students who live here, though I doubt you will see her until dinner. She lives with her husband Scott in the boathouse."

"The man with the glasses?"

Charles nodded. "They are only a two of the students here. Bobby is another." Stephanie turned to the blond man, eyebrow raised, "Aren't you a little old for school?"

She almost smiled when he absently rubbed the back of his head, "You know, you're never too old for some things. I'll leave you two alone, then. Welcome, hope you have a nice stay." With that, Bobby practically fell over himself to get away.

"Is he always that insecure?"

"Just about." Charles' expression suddenly became more sober, "Carla, I think its time I explained the exact nature of the institute to you. We can discuss it here, or in my study if you prefer."

//May as well start now// she thought, sitting on the bed.

Charles nodded. "This school is a place in which mutants can learn to control their abilities, which is why most of the students are rather old. Occasionally we have younger members, but most of them reside at our sister institute in Massachusetts."

**_They're mutants, people like me_**, the thought drifted through her mind, followed closely by her mothers voice, a memory from long ago, 'You are not one of those freaks, do you hear me?' It effectively quelled the rising hope in her, that maybe now she wouldn't have to hide.

Charles watched the expressions that passed over her face, before she settled on a studiously neutral one. Her mind was closed to him, and he took that as discomfort on her part. "I hope that this will not be a problem. Some of the people here have physical mutations, which may make them appear intimidating. There is no reason to fear, though. We are a close nit group, more like an impromptu family, for lack of a better phrase."

Stephanie shook herself, "No, it's not a problem at all, just something of a shock. I really should have expected it, you are one of the foremost voices in mutant rights." She turned inward, going over her short trip through the mansion. She could feel the emotions that seemed to permeate the very walls, the feeling of home, of family.

But she hadn't seen a single person other than her two guides.

"Do your students know who I am?"

Charles nodded, "There are very few secrets here, and I assure you they are dying to meet you. I made them promise, however, to not pounce until after dinner." He smiled with the same rueful expression. "Im afraid our den mothers will be taking over from there."

"Den mothers?"

"Jean Grey and Orroro Munroe. They have become rather competent ones over the years. From what I have seen, they make the integration into our world relatively painless."

Stephanie nodded, absorbing the information she was receiving. 'Our world', that meant they wanted her to stay, at least for more than a passing visit. The though made her giddy with relief. This place, for all its strangeness, felt right in a way that she had never known.

//I'm glad you feel that way.//

The words, spoken so clearly in her mind, made Stephanie jump. "You said that in my head." She couldn't hide the awe in her voice.

"Yes. It's called telepathy. It's my mutant gift. And as I suspect, it is yours as well." 

For the barest of moments, she though about denying that accusation, then decided against it. He probably knew the truth already. //Can you hear me?//

The question was thready, but clear, as if she hadn't had much practice with consciously using her abilities. In contrast, when she didn't think about what she was doing, it came out almost perfectly.

//Loud and clear. We can work on developing your abilities, if you like. You are not under any obligation to join the Institute if you do not wish.//

Stephanie nodded slowly, fighting down the voice of her mother, which was at the moment berating her from hell to high water. "I think I think I'd like that."

Charles nodded, taking in the suddenly peeked look on his daughter's face and fighting down his worry over it. "I'm afraid I've hit you with a lot, and you've only been here for," he looked at his watch, "Twenty minutes. You must be exhausted from your trip." She gave only a listless nod, which increased his worry tenfold. "If you like, I can leave you to rest until dinner."

"Yeah, I think I need a nap or something," Stephanie answered, plucking idly at her slacks. **_Get a grip stupid!_** She shouted to herself, **_Mom isn't here anymore, you need to have your own life for a change!_**

**_She looks like a deer caught in headlights,_** Charles thought, "Well, then. There are towels in the bathroom, as well as assorted other sundries." Stephanie glanced at him and he fought the urge to blush, "I have a tendency to be something of a worry wort at times, and I'll admit that I did go slightly overboard." He was relieved when his confession brought a small smile to his daughter. "Well then, dinner is at eight, and you'll meet the rest of us then. I'll leave you to nap and get comfortable."


	4. Meeting the Herd

_Beep beep beep beep_

Stephanie opened one eye, focusing on the digital clock she placed on the beside table before passing out. For the life of her she wished she could remain half buried in the soft mattress and pillows, but she decided against it. This was her first night in her temporary home, no need to make enemies early on. Sighing, she sat up, stretched, and padded into the bathroom. 7:30 had come entirely too soon for her liking.

She reached blindly for a light switch, and not finding one walked further into the room. At about a foot from the door the lights came on automatically. Blinking to adjust her eyes to the light, Stephanie too a quick look around, and smiled. Xavier certainly hadn't lied about going overboard. Soaps, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, a new toothbrush, manicure set, and almost anything else she could think of were placed neatly around the bathroom. Two large, fluffy bath towels, hand towels, and wash cloths sat waiting on a stand. All were dark blue, her favorite color. The shampoo and conditioner were lemon verbena, her favorite scent, as were the soaps and bath salts. He even knew the brand of toothpaste she preferred. 

**_He is a telepath_**, she told herself as she filled the sink with cold water, turning to look out the large window. Twilight had descended on the grounds, turning the sky a deep purple that was crimson at the horizon. Stars were barely visible, and she made a mental note to take a walk along the grounds later. This far away from the city she was sure the night sky would be spectacular. 

The lap of cold water against her fingers, and she turned the water off. Ice cold, she noted. Bracing herself, Stephanie took a large handful and splashed the frigid water on her face, repeating the process until she was sure she was awake. A quick pat down with one of the towels and she found herself staring into the cabinet mirror, comparing her face to the mental image she now had of her fathers. They shared the same slashing dark eyebrows, stubborn chin, and the lobe-less, slightly pointed ears that made her believe for the first few years of her life that she was an elf. **_The same eyes_**, she noted, the same cool, crystal blue eyes. That was where the similarities ended, the rest of her coming directly from her mother. 

"Come on girl," she said to herself, " We still have to comb out this bush we call hair." In reality, her hair was far from a 'bush'. Wispy, silky, it fell down her back in slight waves, and was infinitely difficult to handle. More often than not she simply put it back in a bun or a ponytail to save time. Her mother's hair in contrast was a thick, curly black mane that would hold any style with relative ease. "Guess I inherited his hair genes," she said, while her mind chanted, **_That doesn't mean we'll lose our hair too_**. 

At about the same time she finally finished her hair and slipped on her shoes, a soft but insistent knock came from her door. **_Moment of truth, Steph_**. 

She opened the door, and fought the urge to slam it shut again and lock herself inside. Two of the most gorgeous women she'd ever seen were standing on the other side. One had flaming red hair that fell thickly down her back, deep green eyes, and was slightly taller than her. The other had catlike blue eyes, white hair (**_white_**, she repeated to herself) that Stephanie doubted had been achieved with bleach cut at chin level with two long streamers that ran beyond her waist, and milk chocolate skin. Stephanie guessed her to be almost if not six feet tall. Both women wore simple jeans and tee-shirts that mirrored her own. Almost without thinking she knew that the redhead was Jean, and the white haired woman was Orroro.

"Glad to see you're up and about," Jean said. "Im Jean Grey, and this lovely lady standing here is Orroro Munroe."

"Nice to meet you," Stephanie said, calling up every ounce of bravado she had. It was one thing to face people she didn't know with her father near, quite another to do so alone. 

"Charles asked us to show you around a bit before heading down to dinner." Orroro said. Stephanie took in the rich accent, mentally placing it in her mind. It reminded her of Professor Hafez, her microbiology professor from Egypt, but with something even richer behind it. 

Without warning, Jean grabbed her hand and pulled her gently but firmly from her room, "Come on, we're not going to bite. Well," she added, looking thoughtful, "Remy might, but only if you ask him nicely."

Stephanie laughed, the sound bringing a smile to the two women, "See, we're not all that bad. Trust me, I know how weird it can be staying in this place for the first time. You'll get used to it eventually."

"Sooner rather than later, I hope," Stephanie said.

"Some of us are easier to know that others," Orroro added, and Stephanie could almost hear the 'child' she'd cut off at the end of that sentence. "But for the most part, everyone here is quite friendly."

Over the next ten minutes Stephanie learned a great deal about her guides and her new home in general. Jean, she learned, had been at the institute since she was twelve years old after a terrible accident. Orroro had joined much later, though she admitted that she'd met Charles Xavier years before when she tried to pick his pocket.

Stephanie laughed at that, and found herself standing at the door to the dining room. Several people were already there, setting the table and brining steaming platter of food from what she suspected was the kitchen. The room was dominated by a large oak table surrounded by chairs.

"So, what's for dinner?" she asked her two guides. 

Jean smiled, "My husband, Scott, is on dinner patrol tonight with Bobby. He refused to tell me, but I wouldn't worry too much, he's a really good cook."

Before she could answer, a blonde man appeared in front of her, "You must be the Professor's daughter," the man said, extending a hand, "I'm Sam Guthrie, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Stephanie." She said, taking his proffered hand. He blushed, and was gone before she could ask him anything.

Stephanie grinned, turning to her new friends, "Do all the men here act like nervous children?" she asked with mock sincerity.

Jean laughed outright, "Only the nice ones. Don't mind Sam, he's still getting used to living here full time. No one knows what went wrong with Bobby, and as for the others" Jean trailed off, turning to Orroro.

" Let us say that this will be a rather interesting experience." Was all the woman said before heading to the table.

"Heads up, coming through!" Stephanie barely had time to react before a slide materialized out of thin air, and several pitchers were slid down it, landing on the table with an audible 'thunk' . The liquid in them never sloshed out, however, since it was frozen solid.

"Wow," Stephanie whispered, reaching out a hand to touch one of the frosted pitchers. Before she could, though, a large, blue hand closed gently over her wrist. It took a supreme act of will to react calmly on her part.

"I would suggest that you not continue on that coarse of action," a deep, baritone voice said, and Stephanie looked around, only to find it had no accompanying body. " My esteemed colleague Mr. Drake cools objects to below freezing temperatures. If you come in contact with them, you will no doubt receive a rather painful burn."

The hand released her, and Stephanie followed it up to where a large, **_blue_** man was hanging quite comfortably from the ceiling, several plates in hand. Or, at least, she though he was a man. Covered from head to toe with blue fur, the figure leaped nimbly down from the ceiling a slight distance away from her, almost as if to keep her from panicking. Something about him tickled the back of her mind, but she couldn't place it. Stephanie noticed that the other occupants of the room, her two guides, Sam, and a woman with short braids, were watching her expectantly.

Setting the plates down, he started forward, and Stephanie noticed the slight forward tilt of his pelvis, almost like a gorilla or other primate, she noted off handedly. 

"Allow me to introduce myself." He said, extending a hand, and she remembered.

"Henry McCoy," Stephanie said, taking the hand. " I remember now. You did a seminar at Harvard about chromosome disparity in extreme cases of mutation." The breath that the room had taken was released.

McCoy smiled, " Yes, two years ago. I take it you were in attendance."

Stephanie smiled back, "Yes, I based my thesis loosely on that topic, though it was more concerned with how the genetic disparity adds to the likely hood of contracting the Legacy virus in both humans and mutants."

Henry's eyes lit up, "We shall have much to discuss then, Ms Tarrington."

"I'm looking forward to it." She answered truthfully. "And please call me Stephanie." Working with a scientist of McCoy's caliber would be a dream come true.

Stephanie's senses were already on alert from her strange meeting with Henry, so when she felt a large someone coming up behind her, she whirled swiftly, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet.

There was only one word to describe the man standing in front of her. Huge. She was used to the relatively security her height gave her, but he dwarfed her by at least a foot. Instincts screaming, Stephanie backed up slightly, trying to give herself room to maneuver, but came up short against the solid bulk of Henry McCoy.

"I would not worry if I were you, Stephanie. This large if somewhat overprotective man is Bishop, our resident paranoid male. Bishop, this is Stephanie Tarrington, Professor Xavier's daughter." There was practically a "behave" warning in those words. Added to the waves of hostility that seemed to waft from him only served to make her more cautious. He gave her the distinct feeling of being examined and found wanting.

Before either could answer another new voice joined in, followed quickly by a man that she automatically categorized as 'walking sex'. That's just how he struck her. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a tee-shirt that had seen better days. Shoulder length dark auburn hair, lightly tanned skin, five o'clock shadow that she just knew was always there no matter the time of day, and the most intense eyes she'd ever seen, black sclera with red pupils that seemed to burn.

"Lightn' up, Bishop. De lady is new." He laid a hand on the black mans shoulder, and he turned, heading back into the kitchen.

Stephanie exhaled, " That man definitely needs to take anger management courses." With him gone, the room reverted back to its cheerful, relaxed feel, conversation continuing as places were set and food brought out.

"Don' take Bishop pers'nally, cher." The man said, "He dat way wit ev'one." 

Stephanie smiled, holding out her hand, " Pity. By the way, thanks for the save. I'm Stephanie."

Instead of shaking her hand, he bent over it, kissing it lightly before looking at her with those eyes, "Enchanté, mademoiselle. Je m'appelle Remy."

"Enchantéde faire votre connassiance, Remy. Que font vous faites?"

Remy laughed, surprised, "You speak bette' fraincais dan Remy, cher."

**_Definitely a charmer_**, she thought, "Blame it on Madame Laigne, my French professor. So, you're the one who bites?"

The question brought a guffaw from Henry, and several sniggers from the others. Remy, however, wasn't put off. "Vraitment, cher. Mais, only if ya ask me nice."

" That's what I was told. I'll try remember." This man relaxed her, so she went further, "So, what exactly do you term as nice?" she asked, giving him a once over that had made several men blush in the past.

It didn't work, instead, he returned the measuring stare before answering, "I t'ink I tell you lata'. Might burn some inn'cent ears."

Hank coughed discreetly, and Remy's eyes focused on a point over her shoulder, and Stephanie didn't need to be told that her father had entered the room. **_Well, that puts an end to my fun_**, Stephanie thought as she turned to face him. He was watching her with a look that said, 'Yes, I heard everything', and she blushed.

Before anyone could say anything, Scott came out of the kitchen, tray in hand, "Soups on!" he announced, heading to the table.

**_Thank God for small miracles._**

Dinner was, she learned, an extremely informal affair, but the general rule was, get their early. There was enough food set out to feed a small army, and Jean hadnt lied, her husband was a good cook. Grilled steak, baked potatoes, salad, garlic bread, grilled chicken, steamed broccoli, and any condiment one could ask for were spread down the center. Food was passed, levitated, and slid down the table, bringing another wow to Stephanie, though this time it was silent.

She met several other people as well. An auburn haired woman named Rogue, who seemed to brim with southern hospitality. Cecilia, the woman she had seen earlier, who turned out to be a medical doctor. Elizabeth, a strange Japanese woman with purple hair and a British accent. Logan, a gruff, short man who spared her a curt, "Hello" before starting in on his food. And Warren, who was called Angel, and with good reason, she thought, taking in his blond hair and large white wings. 

Almost immediately she found herself drawn into several conversations, ranging from her trip up from Virginia to her views on recent rashes of anti-mutant violence. Everyone treated her as if they'd known her for years instead of just a few minutes. It was warm, comforting, and it made her want to cry.

For the first time in twenty years, she knew what being part of a family felt like.


	5. Getting to Know YOu

Charles looked up when he felt Stephanie's mood flatten, concerned when she set her fork down on her plate slowly. He was even more surprised when almost everyone seemed to forget that she was there, with the exception of Remy, who was watching her with ill concealed interest.

__________________________________________________________________

Stephanie felt like she was going in slow motion while everyone else was moving at light speed. IF she looked up she knew that's what she'd see, everyone moving unnaturally fast as she just sat there, barely breathing, muscles slack. Sighing to herself, she stood up, moving slowly out of the dining room.

__________________________________________________________________

Charles felt a chill of apprehension slip through him as he watched Stephanie walk away. Her movements were oddly jerky, almost as if she was attached to a marionette wire in some strange puppet show. He reached out telepathically, and was only slightly surprised when he encountered no mind where hers should have been. For some reason she'd shut down, a behavior that was frighteningly similar to what David had been able to accomplish when he was alive.

"Professuer?"

Charles turned to Remy, who was watching the door Stephanie walked through, "She not doin' too good." There was concern in his voice, and a deep sense of dread.

Nodding, Charles left the table, wondering where Stephanie would have gone. Almost immediately he ruled out her room. If someone noticed her absence that was the first place anyone would look. The grounds were also out of the question. He was quite surprised when he saw her in his study, curled up in an armchair.

"Are you all right, Stephanie?" She started at the question, looking at him with guilty eyes, "We.. lost you at dinner."

She shrugged, "I just needed to get away for a minute or two, I'm sorry if I scared you or anything." She turned, looking at the books lined up neatly on a shelf next to her, "I take it you like Shakespeare?"

Charles nodded, moving the hover chair closer until he was seated next to her, "Yes, very much so. Do you have a favorite play?"

Stephanie nodded, "When I was ten an acting troop invaded a park near our house. The first night I went they were doing A Midsummer Nights Dream." She smiled briefly, "After the show was over one of the actresses let me play in her costume closet. It was one of the funnest nights of my life."

Charles smiled, imagining what a sight it would have been to watch Stephanie emerge from the back of a wagon dressed like a fairy queen. "What did Carla say when she saw you?"

Immediately, the smile disappeared, "She marched me right back to the wagon, made me apologize for bothering the actress, and put everything back the way I'd found it." Stephanie shook herself, "So, did anyone miss me yet, or are you the only one who noticed?"

"Remy did notice your leaving, and was worried about you. The only reason he isn't here is because everyone else would have followed, and I think it's a bit early for you to be interrogated by the whole tribe."

Stephanie laughed, "That bad, are they?"

Charles sighed, "My students are rathertenacious, when it comes to gossip."

"Why do you call them your students? Almost all of them look entirely too old to be going to school, not to mention a private one."

Charles pondered for a moment before answering. " The students here are very special. As I told you before, everyone here is a mutant. They are here to learn control over their abilities so they will not hurt themselves or others. While most have, almost all tend to stay on here, or go to our sister institution on Muir Island."

Stephanie blinked, " So when do I get a rundown on who can do what so I know who I can mess with?"

"If you like, I can show you the training areas." Charles answered.

__________________________________________________________________

**Honey, what in the name of all Hell have you gotten yourself into?** Stephanie asked herself as the doors to the elevator opened. Charles has shown her to a seemingly ordinary panel that swung inward, revealing a large metallic elevator. There were three buttons, "Ground", "Lab", and "Hanger". The last one made her raise an eyebrow. Why in the world would her father have a level names "hanger?" The answer to that question had to be different from the one floating around her head, so she kept silent. The elevator was fast, if the dropping of her stomach was any indication, and it had taken them a good fifteen seconds to descend to the "Lab" level. Now she was walking down a long corridor of the same chrome material as the lift. The walls were bare, with fluorescent lighting running along both ceiling and floor. From what she could tell there were doors, but they were only numbered.

"This all used to be natural tunnels. They extend about a mile in all directions, except for the eastern side, which drops off because of the cliffs. When I decided to turn my home into a school for mutants, I believed it to be prudent to give them a place to practice without drawing attention to them or us."

Stephanie nodded, looking straight ahead at a pair of glass double doors marked, "Medlab". "So, how far down are we, anyway?"

Charles cocked his head, "At the moment, we are almost 200 feet below the surface. This way," he said as he turned a corner, taking her down another monochrome hallway. "The depth is for protection, both of us and our neighbors. The majority of my students have abilities that are extraordinarily dangerous."

"You must have one hell of a furniture bill, then." Stephanie asked, remembering horror tales from her college friends about siblings that torched couches.

That brought a short bark of laughter from Charles, "Fortunately for all of us, most of my students tend to go outdoors to work out their frustrations, or to the Danger Room. The only real problem we have left is discovering a means to prevent Hank from making the furniture blue with his fur."

Stephanie laughed, then backtracked, "Danger Room? Isn't that a littleominous?"

Charles looked up at her, "I'll leave that for you to decide." He said, "Here we are."

It wasn't until then that she realized that they'd stopped walking, and were now standing in front of two huge metallic doors. Stephanie eyed to keypad next to the doors, taking in the palm panel just below. "A little tight on security, are we?" she asked.

Charles didn't answer. Instead he walked up to the pad, punched in a short sequence of numbers, then let his palm be scanned. Seconds later, the doors opened without a sound. "You oil these boys regularly?" she asked in jest, then stopped when she heard her voice echoed back. The room beyond was pitch black, and she gave Charles a dubious look. "You want me to go in _there_?"

"Trust me, there is nothing to worry about." He said, going ahead of her. As he entered she heard the click of large lights coming on, and stood, awed. The room was easily a sixty foot cube, though there were no distinguishing marks on the walls, only smooth paneling. Suspended above the room she saw what she supposed to be a control booth.

"Cerebro : Relaxation scenario three." Charles said calmly.

Suddenly, there was a _shift,_ and Stephanie found herself standing in the middle of a forest. She could hear the birds, feel the wind as it caressed her, the touch of a midday summer sun on her arms. Faintly, she could hear the sound of a river. "This is incredible," she whispered, looking around in amazement. " I've heard about holographic projections, but this is way beyond anything I've ever heard of." Bending down, she touched the grass, surprised when she could feel the blades scratching her fingertips. Cautiously, she pulled out a handful, watching as it conformed to her actions, leaving a bare patch of brown dirt. "How do you?"

"Most of the technology is enhanced using experimental machinery. At its base, its simply force fields and bended light. Cerebro, scenario twenty-two."

Suddenly the glade was gone, and Stephanie found herself floating in space, but she could still breathe. And she _was _floating. There was no sensation of weight against her feet, nothing solid for as far as she could see. Only blackness and tiny points that were stars, even below. "Holy shit."

She started when she heard her father laugh, blushing. "Don't worry, most people react that way to this scenario."

Stephanie twisted herself, relieved to find that it was fairly easy, and faced her father. "How do you keep the anti-gravity? Most computers would have crashed and burned by now."

"As I said, most of the technology is experimental. It does make a peaceful place for meditation, though."

In answer, Stephanie looked around again, a faint spot of orange catching her eye. "What's that?"

Charles looked in the direction she was, and suddenly she was there, wherever _there_ was. Now they were hovering over a swirling mass of orange, red, purple, and almost any other color she could imagine. They were glowing, constantly clashing and combining to form new variations. "This is beautiful."

Charles smiled, filling with pride, " This rooms purpose is not only to supply entertainment," he began, "Cerebro, scenario twelve. Non combatant"

Stephanie found herself in the middle of a war zone, wincing at the sound of falling mortar around them, cringing as dirt rained down on them. Laser fire went through them, hitting targets.

"More often than not we use the Danger Room in this capacity. At its base its designed to test and hone a mutants skills to the limit, and on occasion, beyond. Because I set a non combatant perimeter, the computer is not acknowledging our presence. Without it, we would be fighting for our lives right now."

Stephanie swallowed, " You mean, this thing can hurt you?" she yelled over the din.

Charles nodded gravely, " If one is not careful, they can easily be killed, but only if the failsafes are disengaged. When they're on, the computer automatically shuts down when someone is seriously injured, and sends out a general SOS to anyone in the mansion." He paused, "Cerebro, shut down."

Immediately, they found themselves in the same chrome room, that seemed to have not changed at all. "So I take it I don't get my own pass code to this place for a while."

" At least not until we know what you can do. As you've seen, this can be a very dangerous place." Once again, he paused, and Stephanie thought she heard a faint buzzing, and then it was gone. "It appears my students have noticed are absence and are wishing to speak with you." He took her hand when she paled, "Trust me, they arent as bad as they look once you get to know them."

Stephanie raised one eyebrow, "Yeah? What about the huge guy with the attitude problem? Before dinner he looked at me like I was some kind of security threat or something."

Charles sighed, "I'm afraid that's Bishop. He is something of a paranoid, so do not take his actions too seriously. He was once a soldier, and he has yet to realize that his war is over."

____________________________________________________________________

By the time she and Charles made their way back upstairs, everyone seemed to have migrated to the rec room, occupying almost every surface, Rogue going as far as sitting on the pool table while Logan and Remy played a game. Everyone was chatting animatedly, about everything and nothing, and Stephanie envied them for the briefest of moments. Though they all used to be strangers, now they were family.

"There you are, cherie," Remy said, lining up his shot, " Remy was getin' worried. T'ought I'd haf ta search for you m'self."

Stephanie smiled, " I'm sorry to disappoint, Remy. Charles was showing me around the grounds. Very interesting if I say so myself."

Rogue snorted, "Ya don't know the half of it, honey. Sit down, take a load off."

Stephanie did as she was told, and found herself sitting next to Cecilia and Hank, both of whom were deep in an argument about the benefits of cloned plasma versus that taken from actual donors. 

**Cloned plasma? Are they serious? **Stephanie thought. As far as she knew, cloned plasma was unviable, but here they were talking about it as if it were an everyday necessity. 

"So Chuck gave ya the rundown?" This came from Logan, who was chewing on an old cigar.

"Something like that. All I know it that all of you are mutants, though I have no idea what your mutations are."

Stephanie barely had time to duck as a large snowball came whizzing past her head. She turned a glare in the general direction of its origin as she heard a muffled French curse, and found Bobby looking at her. 

"Nice reflexes. That's my power." At her raised eyebrow, he lifted his hand, and a delicate sculpture of a swan materialized out of the air. "Everyone calls he Iceman, or Popsicle, depending on your mood."

**Now I know why he's a prankster**, Stephanie said to herself. She could imagine waking up to a rather cold piece of ice in your underwear. " Should I be afraid?"

The question earned her an emphatic nod from Hank, "Be afraid, be very afraid." He whispered conspiratorially. 

Next up was Rogue, who amazed her by floating a few feet off the floor, and lifting Hank over her head with one hand. "Plus AhI can drain the energy off anything that comes in contact with mah skin. Kinda sucks, especially in summer." Stephanie could see that it bothered her more than she let on, but stored the information away for later.

Remy smiled when she turned her gaze to him, "Curious, cherie?" he asked, pulling a playing card out of his pocket. He held it aloft for a moment, and she watched as it began to glow pink. Then he threw it toward the ceiling, and it exploded with the dull report of a firecracker, reducing the card to nothing but ash. "Be a real problem when ya sleepy, non? Almos' charged ma bed once. If I let it go long 'nough, makes a good hole in jus' 'bout an'ting." He looked past her, "Stormy, why don' you show her what ya do?"

Stephanie turned to the woman, almost laughing at her exasperated sigh. "Remy, I have told you repeatedly not to call me that." She turned her attention to Stephanie, "I can control the weather," she stated calmly, lifting her two hands in front of her. Stephanie watched, transfixed, as a miniature storm came into being in the space between her slim fingers. "Can you control it on a larger scale?"

Storm nodded, " I have been known to cause changes in the weather when upset, especially lightening strikes," she added, giving Remy a pointed look.

"I'm a telepath and telekinetic," Jean said, lifting a glass from the table with her mind. She looked around, "Just about everyone else cant show you what they do, unless we want to buy more furniture. Bishop is an energy converter, Logan has a healing factor and adamantium claws, Besty is another telepath, Cecilia creates force fields, and Sam becomes invulnerable when he flies. And Scott emits force beams from his eyes, which is why he always wears his shades. Without them, they're uncontrollable."

Stephanie nodded, head whirling. The people around her were dangerous. Most mutants she knew could do little more than parlor tricks, tell you what you were thinking if you concentrated hard enough, move pencils, things like that. These people had the potential to destroy houses, and probably anything else.

"So what do you do?"

The question came from Bobby, and it froze her. What could she do? She'd never experimented with anything. Strange things happening when you were around didn't count as a mutant power, did it? "I honestly don't know," she answered. 

Charles stepped in, " I suspect that Stephanie is a telepath of some caliber, though I have no idea of any other powers." He turned to her, " We can start working on your abilities tomorrow, if you like."

Stephanie nodded blankly, ready to sneak away once again. This time however, she found her path blocked by Logan, who insisted she sit down and tell them all about her. For the next several hours Stephanie learned about her new housemates, laughing at their childhood antics, or antics that occurred moments before she arrived. They were open, inserting opinions here, telling what _really_ happened there. The feeling of belonging returned again, but this time it didn't sadden her. 


End file.
